A Lasting Love

A Lasting Love

By Mary Tate Engels

Published by Mary Tate Engels at Smashwords, all
rights reserved.

Copyright 2010, Mary Tate Engels

Cover by www.digitaldonna.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment.
It may not be re-sold or given away.

"You are definitely worth the risk, Loren," he
murmured against her ear. The velvety softness of his breath sent
chills down her spine, and she longed to sink closer to him, to
press against his hard chest. Of course, she did not. After all,
they barely knew each other. Perhaps tonight would be a time to
remedy that.

"I've never met a man so bold."
Or one who made me feel this way.

"I'm captivated by you, Loren Randolph. I've never
seen eyes quite the color of yours. They're enchanting . . . and so
are you." His voice was a hoarse whisper and wrapped around her as
securely as his arms.

"You're a silver tongued devil." She laughed.

"Who's intrigued with you, Loren."

"A secret admirer?"

He nuzzled her ear ever so faintly. "You'll find that
I don't work in secret. Nor do I admire in secret. I want you to
know exactly where I stand."

"I... I think I do, Reid." His name felt
strange on her tongue, even though she felt so familiar in his
arms. So
right. "Reid . . ." she repeated it again,
just to hear the
sound.

Prologue

He was following her again. She
glanced stealthily over her
shoulder and
there he was. His dark head was bent, conspicuously angled toward a
newspaper, as if he were reading. But she
knew he wasn 't reading it. She faced the front of the
subway
car and felt his penetrating eyes on
her. A chilling shiver ran down her spine and the bitter taste of
fear rose in her throat.

Loren closed her eyes, trying to forget him, to
relax. But who could forget him? And who could relax on the subway?
She waggled loosely, like a disjointed doll, with the constant
vibrations of the car against the rails, reminding herself this was
the smoothest subway ride in the country. Or so they said. New,
modern, sleek, efficient, convenient ... nothing but the best
transit system for the capital city.

Foggy Bottom . . . Arlington . . .
National Airport. . .
.

Loren's blue eyes flashed open. She gripped her
briefcase with one hand and a seat arm with the other, bracing
herself for the most exciting and beautiful city in the United
States—Washington, D.C.
Her city.
Its
pulse, its vibrance, its importance, thrilled her daily, making her
ever grateful that she had grown up here. She was lucky enough to
go to George Washington University, get a job on The Hill, and
learn the ropes from the man who had known every knot and was
responsible for looping many of them—her own father.

Loren merged with the crowd at the stop.
Did she catch a glimpse of him exiting? She
transferred to the bus for the short ride on George
Washington Parkway. She sat nervously in the front seat, instinct
impelling her to glance in the rearview mirror.
There
he was,
his head towering above all the others. His
appearance was distinctive and intrepid, bordering on handsome.
Dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead and stylishly edged
his collar at the neck. And those eyes, a deep mahogany color,
almost black. And they seemed to drill right through you. Tall,
lean, long-legged, he wore his suit clumsily ... as though he would
be shedding the coat and tie at any minute and begin to lope
through the streets. He definitely did not have the
three-piece-suit, tailor-made look of the Washington men she knew.
Yet, he walked with a self-assured, broad stride, those long legs
devouring his course impatiently. And those awful boots.
Cowboy boots,
for God's sake, with a suit.
Actually they were the only items about him that looked
natural.

The bus shook to a stop. Ah, Alexandria . .
.
home.
Loren loved all the interesting
sections of Washington. Georgetown . . . The Mall . . . The Hill
... the Potomac ... but Alexandria was her favorite. Old, quaint,
traditional ... a slower pace. She loved it.
Would he
follow her? What would she do if he did?

Loren left the bus and heard him exit behind her. She
knew the next move was hers. Allowing a few minutes for him to get
closer, she whirled around to confront him. It would be wiser to
face him now, while others were near and before reaching her town
house. She couldn't let him know which tiny entrance was hers.

But he was gone. Out of sight. She scanned the narrow
cobblestone street, but he wasn't visible anywhere. Where could he
have gone so quickly?

Heart pounding, Loren walked rapidly to her
brick-edged doorway and inserted the key. At that moment a white
Continental sped past, as much as a car could speed on a
cobblestone street. She looked up in time to see that
he
was in the passenger seat, while another man
drove.
There were two of them.
And
now
they
knew where she lived! Oh, dear
God, what a fool she had been! In her innocence, her ignorance, she
had shown them exactly where to come. Feverishly she unlocked the
door and hurried to the phone.

Oh, damn! She realized with a jab in the pit of her
stomach that she hadn't checked the license plate. Mistake number
two. With shaky fingers she picked up the phone.

Loren was assured, in an uninterested monotone that
police patrols on Prince Street would increase. Somehow she doubted
it.

Aware that
they
knew
where she lived, Loren spent a sleepless night, waiting in the
still, cold hours of the early morning when
they
were most likely to break in.

But the anticipation was in vain.

Chapter On
e

Breeze gentle as a poem . . . jewel in the sea . . .
eternal pulsing of the ocean . . . oaks of majesty and endurance .
. . sand like diamonds. . . love, like dreams. . . once is never
enough . . .

In her imagination, Loren could hear the rushing,
roaring thunder of the sea as it crashed on the breakers, feel the
warm wind in her hair, see the brilliant glare of sand crystals in
the sun, smell the deep sea-green salty water as it sprayed her
face. She was bewitched, obviously whisked away from the bitter
cold wind off Chesapeake Bay.

"Day dreaming again, Loren?"

She jumped, then smiled sheepishly at the office
receptionist. "Sorry, Anne. I was just browsing through this
booklet that came across the congressman's desk, a resort island
off the coast of South Carolina. Isn't it beautiful?"

Anne craned her head to gaze over Loren's shoulder.
"Um-hum. Sure is. You'd think that since we work for South
Carolina's congressman, he'd invite us down there sometime."

"Wouldn't that be nice? Well, perhaps he will.
Spring should be gorgeous there." Loren sighed. "But spring is
gorgeous here. I want to go somewhere
now.
I have the winter blahs, I guess. Now, what were you saying
before?"

The sleepless night was taking its toll, and
she was ex
tremely tired and slightly
irritable.

Anne handed Loren a slip of paper. "There is
just one
more appointment. He insisted on seeing
you."

"Why doesn't he just wait until next week and
see the
congressman if he wants a job?" Loren stole
another glance at the travel booklet.

Anne shrugged. "He said he wanted to show you
his credentials first. Probably wants to pave the way by
talk
ing to the congressman's aide initially. I told
him you'd be
glad to see him. Always the
eager-to-please office staff of
Congressman
Neilson."

Loren smiled wryly and waggled her head. "Oh,
sure,
sure. Did this man say anything
else?"

"Just expressed an interest in wildlife
management."
Anne leaned forward and whispered
huskily. "He sound
ed like some wildlife I'd like to
manage. His voice was so
. . . masculine."

Loren smiled tightly at Anne's frivolity. Never
had a
man's voice affected her that way. And she
continued.
"I'm sure he sounded masculine for good
reason. He's
probably an unemployed DJ who wants to
work in the
country's most vibrant city. I'll check
him out, Anne."

"Should I stay and . . . help?" Anne's eyebrows
arched
teasingly.

Loren smiled. "If he needs an appointment with
the
congressman, I'll be glad to schedule him to come
in when you're in
the office so you can get look at
him."

"Actually, I need to go on home now. Want me to
stay since e
veryone else in the office has already
gone."

"Of course I don't mind. I’m fine. This
won't take very long. You run along. Will I see you at
the
ambassador's dinner later tonight?"

Anne smiled as she gathered her purse and an
armload
of notebooks. "Oh, yes. I have an appointment
to get my
hair done, so I do need to run. Thanks a
lot, Loren."

Loren picked up her travel book and followed
Anne to
the front office. "I think I'll just wait for
Mr., uh,” she looked at the note Anne handed her, “Reid,
out here at your desk."

Anne nodded. "Good idea. And Congressman
Steiger's office down the hall is still open, so there are people
close
by. See you tonight, Loren." By the time the
glass
door closed, Loren was already enthralled with
her island
resort book.

A shuffling noise preceded the rattling of the
door and
Loren realized her appointment had arrived.
Reluctantly
she tore her attention from the colorful
page before her.

Broad, masculine shoulders blocked the doorway
as
dark, brooding eyes canvassed the room, settling on
Loren, filling her with instant fear.
It
was him, the
man who
followed her
home. The man who knew where she lived
stood before
her now, and she was all alone in the office.
Her
heart pounded wildly, then seemed to lodge in her
throat as she tried to speak.

It came out hoarsely. "You!"

"Good observation." His smile was almost
pleasant.
"And you are twice as lovely up
close."

She raised her knees rubbery, intent on somehow
getting past his figure in the doorway. "You followed me. Why?"

He entered the room, quickly covering the space
between them. His boots resounded heavily in the empty
room. "You interested me, and I just wanted to know
where an aloof, attractive girl who worked on The Hill
would live. And I'm impressed."

"Is the effort worth discussing with the
police?" She
was bluffing, but she hoped the anger in
her voice was a
threat.

"No harm done. I was just curious about you.
Before
you call the cops, let me introduce myself." He
extended
his large brown hand. "Reid Mecina. My office
is in the
Dirksen Building. Don't you remember
me?"

"Should I?" She was hesitant to reach out for
that man’s hand.
Vaguely a flicker of recognition
appeared. She had seen him before... somewhere... even before he
followed her.
But where?

"We've met. The first time was a few years ago
at a congressional
party. The last was just last month
when the
White House hosted an awards ceremony for the
Western
Heritage Contribution winners."

"Oh." Slowly she grasped his still outstretched
hand.
"You're . . . you're Senator Mecina's
son."

"Right." He grinned, revealing one incongruous
dimple
wedged in his left cheek. "And you're Senator
Jefferson Ran
dolph's daughter, Loren. Jeff and my
father were col
leagues. We were sorry to hear of his
death last year."